Her head was in my hand when she died, and I thought back to that other end of the spectrum, the first time we connected. She was the feisty one, the most playful, the prettiest…mine. She picked me, really, not the other way around. And we grew up together.
A puppy, a girl…a wise old sage, and still a girl…which made the fact of my standing there, her head heavy in my hand, the life slipping out of her, even more strange and unbearable. How many times had she comforted me when I was scared, and here I was, again scared, and again, she was the strong one. She left me quickly, floating away to a place deeper than sleep. I knew she had to go. And oh, it hurt to lay her beautiful head back on the cold steel table and kiss her nose and leave her there. But I didn’t, really.
She’s with me always, my first companion, my best friend. And through her death she taught me two of life’s important lessons: Loving hurts. Losing hurts. But in the course of life, both are essential.
Bonnie, we grew up together. I wish we could have grown old together. I miss you, always.
|12, July 1999